by Silver, Lily
Elizabeth did not want to touch that hand. It was gnarled, resembling a claw. The others were watching and the thought came that she must be shaming her husband with all this cowering and shivering in front of his men. She swallowed, determined to be gracious as she’d been taught by her mother, as was expected of her as the wife of a count. She reached out.
The moment Dr. Linton’s hand touched Elizabeth’s skin, an onslaught of unspeakable images washed over her mind, and then darkness smothered the scream rising in her throat.
*******
Kieran opened his eyes. He was in his bed, upstairs. He’d been in the shop, packing orders to be delivered about town. A wave of inexplicable terror had claimed him and then horrifying visions slammed into his mind with rapid succession.
It was that girl again. She’d formed a mental bond with him when she was trapped in that dark cell. Confronted by appalling perversity again, she transferred the disturbing images to him as her mind simply shut down. He sat up and rubbed his forehead. “How long was I out?”
“An hour.” Barnaby leaned forward in the chair nearby. “What did you see, lad?”
“Sails, the mast of a ship.” Kieran said evasively. He wanted to go take a hot bath, scrub his skin with a brush. Hell--he wanted to scrub the sickening images from his mind. “I was looking up, someone was holding me and then everything went black.”
“I don’t like this.” The old magician muttered. “This is a linking spell. It’s gaining more power over you each time this happens. I’ll get the cards.”
Barnaby returned moments later and handed Kieran the tarot deck. Kieran shuffled the deck and began laying the cards out on the bed in the proper order.
“A predominance of swords.” Barnaby remarked. “The two—things hidden; the three--a broken heart; the nine--night terrors. Oh dear, all of that, plus the eight?”
Kieran stared at the eight of swords. He hated that card; the dark haired woman reminded him of his mother. She was bound and blindfolded, encircled by eight swords stuck upright in the ground about her.
“Who was that man holding our little lady when she passed out?”
“You saw it, too?” Kieran asked, realizing he wouldn’t be able to fool the old man.
“Just a fragment, when I touched you. That man looked familiar.”
“Mr. O’Rourke, her husband, I think.” He rubbed his brow. “It came and went so fast.”
“He’s grown more powerful, I see.” Barnaby said, studying the tarot spread.
Kieran’s gaze dropped to the King of Swords; it signified a man of keen intellect, he could be a powerful ally or a daunting opponent. “I fail to understand what all this has to do with me? Why am I being assaulted by his wife’s nightmares? I’ve never even met the woman!”
Barnaby tapped the last card in the spread, the six of cups.
“It’s not possible!” Kieran protested. A boy was passing a cup to a younger girl. It was obvious the pair were brother and sister.
“The cards do not lie.” Barnaby reminded him. “O’Rourke’s bride is a relative, perhaps distantly removed, but a blood relation nonetheless, one who shares your Druidic ancestry. She formed a metaphysical link with you while in great distress and as the ship they are on draws near, that link is becoming stronger. This is why you’ve been having visions and dreams lately.”
Kieran wasn’t having dreams. He was having nightmares, because of that girl on the ship. “You have to do something, Barnaby. You have to make it stop. I’ll go mad.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” The old man’s words left him cold.
*******
It took a moment to reconcile herself to her surroundings. Elizabeth was in her husband’s cabin, lying on the bed. The last thing she remembered was looking up to see billowing, white sails flapping against a brilliant blue sky. She’d been on deck with his lordship and then, No, I don’t want to remember that horrible man! She didn’t think it possible to feel any dirtier, but the memory of his touch made her skin crawl. Her hand flew to her mouth. She made a mad dash for the necessary closet and emptied the remains of her lunch into the sea. She crumpled to the floor in the tiny closet, her brow beaded with moisture and her limbs quivering sporadically. She hugged her knees to still her limbs, and tried to make sense of the jangled images that assaulted her mind before she passed out.
“Lizzie, my sweet, what are you doing on the floor?” The count peeked into the closet. “Ah, casting up your accounts, I see. Are you finished?” She nodded and took his outstretched hand. He pulled her to her feet. With an arm about her waist, he walked her back to the small bedchamber and guided her to sit on the bed.
“Do you remember what happened?” His manner was casual as he stood beside the bed and dipped the cloth into a basin on the nightstand, and then wrung it out.
“I swooned.” She bristled at the confession. Silly, weak women swooned. She did not. “I assure you, my lord, I’ve never fainted before in my entire life.”
“A swoon lasts a few moments. You’ve been unconscious for over an hour.” Donovan sat on the bed and brushed her face with the cool cloth. “Was it heat sickness? We are in warmer climes.” Elizabeth made a face at his assessment. “Oh, I’ve seen it take down grown men among the new indentures, so it’s not a sign of weakness, my pet.”
“It wasn’t the heat; it was that disgusting old man! He’s not a doctor. He’s running from the law—I saw it all when he touched me—he’s trying to—“The storm clouds gathering in her husband’s eyes silenced her attempt to explain her disturbing vision.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, desperate to calm her trembling limbs. Oh, God, he’ll never believe me! No one would. They would think her mad.
“He’s trying to do what, Lizzie?” Donovan asked.
“Nothing.” She gasped, finding her lungs starved for air. “I was confused, sir.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Lady Beaumont, you do me a great honor.” The captain of The Pegasus made a gallant leg before Elizabeth as they entered his suite. It was a mirror copy of Donovan’s.
“Captain Rawlings.” Elizabeth gave him a demure smile. “It was kind of you invite us to dine with you. And who is this gentleman?” She fixed her gaze on the towheaded boy at the captain’s side, feeling less intimidated by the lad while in the forced company of two men this evening. She didn’t want to come but Donovan was adamant that the invitation to dine with the captain could not be refused without appearing rude as the man was his friend and partner.
“This is my nephew, Peter MacCafferty, Madame.” The boy bowed awkwardly before her as prompted. “That was very well executed.” The captain noted. “But mind you don’t stare so. Forgive him, Ma’am.” Placing his hand on the boy’s shoulder, Rawlings confessed, “Living the life of a sailor, he’s a bit rough around the edges.”
Elizabeth couldn’t stifle a giggle as the captain’s nephew rolled his eyes and made a face that betrayed his thoughts about such stiff formality among the adult set. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. MacCafferty.” She smiled at the lad. “Would you mind terribly if I called you Peter?”
“Everyone calls me Peter. I don’t think I’d remember to answer otherwise, ma’am.”
“Yes, I know what you mean.” She agreed, unaccustomed to being addressed as Madame Beaumont after being Miss O’Flaherty all of her life. “You may call me Elizabeth. If the Queen stops by for tea, we’ll make every effort to impress her, of course. Until then, we’ll do fine without all that stiff formality, don’t you agree?”
“I like her!” Peter informed the count. “Want to see my kittens, Elizabeth—“
“Lady Elizabeth.” Rawlings gave the lad a quelling look. “Remember our discussion about manners--”
“You have kittens? I’d love to see them.” Elizabeth put in quickly, hoping to deflect his ire from the boy. “After dinner, of course. I’m famished.” She gave the captain a sweet smile.
“Yes, yes, quite
.” The blond captain murmured, giving her a generous grin as he gestured to the table glittering with crystal, silver and fine china in the candlelight.
The captain possessed a sunny personality, putting her at ease quickly with his kind eyes and his penchant for spinning a good yarn. Donovan remained silent and pensive. She didn’t understand his sullen mood when he insisted they must dine with the captain in the first place.
Rawlings confided to her that they had been adventurers in their youth. The word pirate never came up. In fact, the word was carefully avoided as the man insisted they earned their fortunes as merchant sailors in the East. As the captain spoke, the impression rose before her of a pair of masked buccaneers dressed in black, terrorizing all they encountered on the seas.
Perhaps it was that second glass of wine. Perhaps it was the curious gleam in the captain’s eyes as he embellished his tale. Whatever the cause, Elizabeth couldn’t control her tongue. “And you wore black scarves over your faces. Was it to protect your delicate complexions from the harsh sun, Captain?” She asked sweetly, dimpling at the man.
The captain’s fork stilled in mid-air, he regarded Donovan with uncertainty.
“I’m afraid she has you, Black Jack.” Donovan quipped, smiling for the first time that evening. “Lizzie has the extraordinary ability of being able to see beyond the masks people wear. She gets it from her grandmother O’Flaherty, isn’t that right, my love?”
Elizabeth couldn’t tell if he were bragging or mocking her abilities. Perhaps he was merely covering for her impertinence. It was borne on her yet again in the strained moment that she spoke her mind too easily since her illness. She often spoke her thoughts aloud without realizing it until it was too late. Donovan was patient with her odd mental lapses, but society would not be. “I beg your pardon, Captain. It was rude of me to contradict you.”
“Don’t apologize!” The captain said with a wave of his hand. “I appreciate plain speaking. It’s a rare gift, in a woman.” Leaning back in his chair, Captain Rawlings picked up the sagging conversation. “My great aunt had that gift, the knowing, she called it. Have you had the knowing all your life, my lady, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I’ve only recently acquired the ability, and I consider it a curse, not a gift, captain.”
“Oh, but you get to talk to ghosts!” Peter exclaimed. “That must be great fun. Do they only come out after dark---can you make them appear? Can you look into a person’s eyes and tell their future like a gypsy? Can you see if they be good or evil, Lady Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth blanched at Peter’s questions. How did he know she saw spirits? How did any of them, she wondered, when Donovan and the captain didn’t discount the boy’s wild claim?
“I’m not a gypsy, Peter.” She began, looking at the boy so as not to have to deal with the men. “My family descended from an ancient warrior-priest class that ruled Ireland before the English conquest. My ancestors were the guardians of the Old Religion of the Celts. They communed with nature spirits. Merlin was a priest of the old ways.”
“Merlin’s my favorite in King Arthur.” Peter’s brown eyes grew hopeful. “Can you teach me to bring forth the dragon’s breath?”
“I’m afraid not.” Elizabeth smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. “Merlin’s abilities were greatly exaggerated in those stories. According to my grandmother O’Flaherty,” she continued, “The gifts of second sight and the ability to walk the veil between the worlds were passed down through the bloodlines of the Chieftain’s family. My grandmother was the last seer, she claimed when she died I would inherit her gifts. Of course, I never believed her.” Elizabeth added with apologetic tone in front of the men. “I always considered her tales of visits from dead ancestors to be just an old woman’s fancy.”
“But then she died and now you have them!” The boy concluded, slapping the table decisively. “What is the veil between the worlds? Is it a place in Ireland? Can anyone go--“
The captain put up a hand. “Enough.” He gave Elizabeth a harried look. “Never runs out of questions, that one. If I might ask, Madame, do you see the future in these visions?”
Elizabeth studied her wine glass that had been conveniently refilled by their host, making it her third for the evening, if she drank it. Something was afoot, she could sense it. The men were on a hunting expedition, searching for hidden treasure like the pirates they were. “It’s still so new. I see bits and pieces of a person’s life if they happen to touch me.”
“What about him?” The captain nodded toward her husband. “Can you see through his many masks of deceit?”
“I don’t experience visions with his lordship.”
“Why?” Captain Rawlings leaned forward to peer at Donovan speculatively. “Does he have a black soul that defies reading, by even God himself?”
“Jack.” Donovan warned. “I’ll thank you to stop scaring my lass.”
Elizabeth smiled at their host. She knew he was poking fun of his lordship because Donovan was always so perpetually grave. The impressions she received from the count were rare and difficult to read, like brief flashes of lightening illuminating a dark sky. The captain, and her spouse, didn’t need to know that. “His lordship’s touch is familiar to me.” She evaded.
Rawlings extended his hand. “Here, tell me what you see.”
“No.” After her encounter with Linton, she didn’t want to see the dark secrets in another man’s soul. “Please, I cannot.” She was torn by his request. She didn’t wish to offend her husband’s friend, either.
“It’s all right. I promise.” The captain persisted in a playful tone.
“She said no.” Donovan intervened in a brusque tone, reaching across the table to offer her his hand. She clutched that big hand, relieved to have him settle the matter for her. “Peter, tell us about those kittens.” He effectively took charge, changing the subject.
“Would you like to see them, my lady?” Peter asked.
Elizabeth was all too happy to escape the men. She rose and followed Peter to the crate in the corner and knelt down with her back to the men. She couldn’t help sighing over the delightful, furry, little bundles.
“I’m keeping the big red one.” Peter informed her. He reached in to snag the plump fellow by the scruff. “The rest are yours to choose from, my lady.”
The creak and scrape of chairs made Elizabeth start. The count crossed the room and hunkered down on beside her. “So, which one will be sharing our bed tonight, my love?”
The suggestiveness of his words was not lost on her. “You’d let me have one?”
“I’ll give you anything if it makes you smile like that.”
The man could charm the scales from a snake, she thought, blushing and averting her gaze to the kittens. “They still have blue eyes. I adore blue eyes.”
Captain Rawlings seemed to be choking. She glanced up. He was grinning from ear to ear after spraying brandy all over his sleeve. The count was smiling as well. When she found herself caught in his adoring blue gaze, she knew why the men were so amused.
“Cats are good hunters.” Peter put in, ignoring the men and their snickering grins. “They’ll cut back on the smaller lizards on the estate, and the spiders, too.”
“Spiders?” Elizabeth repeated, looking at the boy with alarm.
“Aye, big ones, mum, hairy and big as a tea saucer with their legs extended—least wise if they grow to full size.” Peter grinned with all the wonder that only a boy could possess at such a ghastly fact, “A good fat Tom or two will keep ‘em out of your bed chamber.”
“They don’t come in the house.” Donovan countered. “Not unless there’s an unusually heavy rainy season. And even then, it’s just the first floor.”
“The spiders or the lizards?” She demanded, not liking the news one bit. What else did this man forget to mention when he talked in glowing terms about his island paradise?
“The spiders, of course. The lizards and snakes prefer the jungle brush.” He put an arm about Eliz
abeth. “And the manor house is up on a hill, away from—“
“Snakes!” This place was sounding worse by the minute. “What kind of snakes?”
“Big ones.” Peter stretched out his arms as wide as he could. “Big as—“
“That’s enough horse shit from you!” Donovan snapped at the boy.
“Peter!” Captain Rawlings intervened. “It’s time you left and let the grownups talk for a while. Off with you now, and none of your sulkiness.” With a hurt expression, the boy sprang up, his favorite kitten slung over his shoulder as he rushed to the door.
Donovan gazed into the box of wriggling fur. “How about the red tiger? I have a fondness for red heads.” He scooped the kitten up in one hand and lifted its tail. The kitten meowed indignantly at his inspection. “A tom.” He offered her the kitten. “A sturdy little fellow to guard milady’s bedchamber.”
“It’s not my choice. Cats choose people.” She said, holding the kitten up to her face. “What do you say? Would you like come home with me and be my mischievous little Puck?” The poppet placed a tiny paw on her cheek and began licking her face with that sandpaper tongue. She giggled, delighted by his acceptance.
The men were staring at her, and both had ridiculous grins on their faces.
Her husband stood and offered her his hand. Elizabeth hoped that meant their evening was drawing to a close as he pulled her to her feet. Instead, Donovan led her to the cushioned window seat and gestured for her to sit down.
Feeling uncommonly light and free, Elizabeth slipped off her shoes and sat down. Her gown covered her ankles, so she wasn’t making an untoward display. Donovan sat beside her. His arm snaked about her waist, drawing her against him and the world suddenly seemed a much sturdier place. She was feeling more than a little wobbly, she realized. She gazed up at her husband, wishing they were alone so Donovan might kiss her. An ebony brow lifted in censure but as he was smiling the look lost much of its power. He directed his gaze in front of them.
The captain was standing before them, holding a tray of drinks, a brandy for Donovan and a goblet of wine for Elizabeth, which she declined. Any more wine and she’d be taking her dress off because of the heat next, convinced there was nothing improper with that, either.